


Shutter Speed

by inawasteland



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M, Modeling, Photography
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-20
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2018-02-21 20:56:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2482139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inawasteland/pseuds/inawasteland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tucker answers a craigslist ad and hopefully doesn't get murdered by a crazy photographer named Washington.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shutter Speed

**Author's Note:**

> This was a prompt fill for an anon at my tumblr. I had so many different ideas for how to approach this prompt but I was mostly weighing my options between high fashion and answers a craigslist ad and wound up going with the latter. Maybe I’ll revisit the high fashion version another time. Also SO SORRY THIS TOOK OVER A MONTH. Holy hell I have had no free time/willpower to write.

When Tucker entered the building, he was a little surprised to see that the interior was actually very lovely, considering the somewhat decrepit outsides. It was almost ironic, the way the outward appearance, the very first thing a stranger would see was allowed to deteriorate, but great care was taken to ensure that if the stranger was not turned off by the first impression, that they would actually be fairly impressed with the rest of the building.

He glanced down at the paper in his hand just to make sure he had made it to the right place. The address matched the one in the e-mail response he had gotten when he had answered the ad. The online ad. The _craigslist_ ad. Desperate times, Tucker kept reminding himself. At least the inside was charming enough to not scream serial killer. Then again, didn’t Patrick Bateman live in a charming apartment? Better text Church just in case he went missing.

When he finally convinced himself that he was just being paranoid and willed himself to the elevator, he pressed the corresponding button for the photographer’s apartment. It was apparently supposed to be a tasteful shoot. Not completely nude, but it would be a study of the male form, so be prepared with comfortable underwear, that sort of deal. Tucker was not exactly bashful and had modeled nude before, but those were done via a go-see, not craigslist. His go-sees hadn’t exactly resulted in any call backs, though.

Upon arriving at the right floor, there was someone waiting for him. Washington, apparently, that was how he signed the e-mail. He knew what Tucker looked like from the headshot he received, but Tucker didn’t know what to expect. He seemed a decent enough man. Tall, with worn-out eyes and freckles spreading across his face, the remnants of a dye job that must not have been touched up in months.

“You must be Tucker. Thank you _so much_ for agreeing to come here. I just don’t make enough to open my own studio,” he admitted with a sad tone to his voice. This was clearly something Washington wanted to do for a career, but as Tucker was well aware, it was difficult to push into the industry without a good deal of networking. Tucker has _never_ been good at networking.

“Uh. Yeah! Well, I admit, I expected this place to be a dump, but it’s actually not too bad. Could use a little cleaning up outside, though,” Tucker rambled, following Washington inside, and peeling off his jacket when Washington gestured for it.

“Yeah, the super does what he can, but the landlord doesn’t want to bring in anyone to redo the brick. And if he did I’m sure my rent would skyrocket, so I just bite my tongue for the time being.” He shrugged and led the way further into the apartment until they reached what must have been the living room area. There was a screen set up against the wall, with several expensive-looking lamps, creating an avidly lit environment. For someone who couldn’t afford his own studio for photography, Washington had apparently done fairly well at transforming his apartment into one.

Tucker was surprised at how quickly the initial anxiousness that he had felt when he first arrived was melting away. There was something about Washington’s presence, and the way he spoke, that made Tucker relax. Even with the development of a silence that fell after Washington talking about the apartment, there was nothing awkward about it.

“I suppose we should get right to it, yeah? You can call me Wash, and if you feel at all uncomfortable during the shoot, please tell me. I want you to look as casual and as relaxed as possible.”

Wash, huh? That did roll off the tongue a bit better. Not that Tucker’s mind had started thinking about tongues. Nor was his mind falling further into the gutter with every moment. _Bow chicka bow bow._

Tucker didn’t realize he was grinning until Wash pointed it out. Tucker has to force the grin off his face.

“Right, relaxed.” He cleared his throat as he turned his back towards Wash and started shedding his clothing, one by one. When he was done, he was left only in a pair of boxer briefs, and when he turned back towards the photographer, he couldn’t help but feel as if he were being scrutinized. “The tattoos aren’t an issue, right? You didn’t ask...”

“No! No, they’re not, definitely not. That’s not...I mean.”

Oh, so maybe not scrutinized. Not with how flustered Wash looked to be.

“So then we’re okay?” Tucker asked, taking a step closer to Wash and crouching down enough so that his face was level with Wash’s. “We can get started?”

“Yes, have a seat on the stool over there. Let me know when you are ready, pose as natural as you can and try to forget that I’m even here. If you need any directions, I can give you them, but I prefer my models to do what makes them feel most at ease in their own skin.”

As Tucker took a seat on the stool, Wash’s instructions resonated within himself. This had to have been one of the more...abstract shoots he had done. Not abstract because of the actual content, after all he wasn’t wearing anything other than his own underwear. But it didn’t feel like there was a theme, as he had seen with most of the other shoots he had been a part of. There was no garment to sell, nothing that the photographer felt important enough to draw the viewer’s attention to. It was a portrait study, plain and simple, and Tucker was not used to given no direction whatsoever.

Tucker took a moment to collect himself. He cleared his mind with deep breaths, much in the same way he prepared himself for a more formal shoot, only this time he was looking within for his strength instead of to the director. He knew how he photographed best, but at the same time, he didn’t know if that was what Wash was looking for. What _was_ he looking for? Eventually, he decided that whatever Wash was looking for didn’t matter. This was a character study, and instead of trying to look like he was obviously posing, he tried to pretend that he was back at home, enjoying a lazy day with his own thoughts. 

“You can start shooting,” he stated as he let his thoughts wander, smiling occasionally, changing his poses subtly as different ideas struck him. He had forgotten all about the photographer behind the lens, hadn’t even heard the clicking of the shutter as Wash took frame after frame. It wasn’t until Wash had repeated himself twice to let him know he was out of frames that Tucker was able to come back to the here and now.

“Whoa, sorry dude, I guess I let myself get a little bit _too_ carried away,” Tucker apologized with a nervous laugh and an anxious rub at the back of his own neck.  
 “No, no need to apologize, that is exactly what I was hoping for!” Wash said eagerly, pulling the memory card out of his camera and ambling over to his computer. “Did you want to see how they came out?”

Tucker rarely ever got this bashful; in fact he was usually full of himself, but the tables had turned on him. Normally he loved looking at the pictures, but now he was nervous. What if they hadn’t come out good because he wasn’t given any direction? What if this guy didn’t know what he was doing? But he remembered what his agent always told him: even our worst pictures can teach us something about ourselves. And he had had some pretty terrible photographs taken of him in his lifetime.

“Okay fine, yeah, let’s look.”  
 Wash grinned as he fit the card into the slot in his computer and pulled up the photographs. The digital age was a blessing with its instant gratification, but it was also a curse. Sometimes Tucker would have rather not known how much of a disaster his shoots had turned out to be before he even left the set.

But these, photographs. Now these were works of art. The composition, the lighting. Tucker was not an art aficionado, practically only took selfies, but he could appreciate the amount of work Wash had put into this photoshoot. Even just the preparation, before Wash had even _met_ Tucker.

“I know I don’t usually get to keep any...except like maybe one or two for my portfolio, but-”

“You can choose what you think are the ten best frames. I’ll even mat your favorite, if you’d like.” Wash’s response took Tucker by surprise. Was he serious? _Tucker_ could choose?

And apparently he had actually said that out loud, because Wash responded to it.

“Of course you can. Too many photographers and directors pick what they think are the best shots. Models are rarely ever given the chance to think for themselves. Consider all of this a reminder. You are human and you deserve to be treated like one. Besides, who better to choose than the person in the picture? If you don’t like the way you look, then why should anyone else?”

And so Tucker did what he had always wanted to do. He chose pictures, not the ones where he looked the best, but the ones that showed who he was. The ones that displayed his flaws, the scars, the tattoos, and everything. The ones that proved that he was human.

When the package came in the mail, the one with the ten frames and his favorite cropped and matted, they were signed by the photographer and a note was included, with Wash’s phone number and an invitation to call him, perhaps to share a cup of coffee sometime. And Tucker? Well, he wasted no time and dialed.


End file.
